Safety
by jozivabellepattersonfan
Summary: Eve is a Guardian, even in the middle of the night - but at least she's not the only one looking out for the Librarians. Character-focused series. Complete.
1. Cassandra

When cases kept us late at the Library, the Library provided rooms for us. Mine was usually on the second floor of the Annex, unless I was injured, in which case the Library would move my room to the first floor next to Ezekiel's.

My room was as comfortable as I could possibly imagine. It had a queen-sized bed, complete with a down comforter in the winter and a light coverlet in the summer. My bedside table always had a copy of an interesting book. (Who better to pick out a book than a Library?) The closet even had a variety of clothes in my size, from pajamas to pantsuits and everything in between.

When I was home, or out on a mission, I slept badly. I was always on alert; the slightest noise could jar me into immediate wakefulness. But in my room at the Library, I felt safe. I slept well.

Not so, however, for Cassandra.

In the Library's defense, it couldn't fix her tumor. Nothing other than the magic of Excalibur could take the cancer away. The Library did its best to be comforting. It made Cassandra's room as light and airy as it could. The walls were decorated with Cassandra's favorite things: ponies, planets, and math. When you laid on the bed, it was like lying on a cloud. There was no overhead light; instead, lamps with softly lit bulbs were scattered around the room. Quiet, calming music was always playing.

The tumor didn't cause Cassandra constant pain. Most of the time, when Cassandra spent the night at the Library, she got a full eight hours or more of rest. But when she was having what Ezekiel termed a "brain grape night," not even the sudden appearance of a real pony in her room could take her mind away from the agony.

I had to believe that the Library purposely woke me up this particular brain grape night, because if it didn't, I never would have heard the soft pitter-patter of feet one story down. Rubbing my eyes, I emerged from my room to look over the railing.

Sure enough, there was Cassandra, heading towards the kitchen. I grabbed an extra blanket from my bed and followed.

She was curled up on the floor. The freezer was open above her; ice cubes were scattered around her still form. She must have been trying to get some ice for her head when the brain grape – the tumor, I corrected myself irritably – became too much.

Gently, I picked her up, set her on a cot, and covered her with the blanket I'd brought down. Putting some ice into a plastic bag, I wrapped it in a towel and placed it on her head.

"Eve?" she croaked, eyes still closed.

"It's me, Red," I told her quietly. "Hold this to your head." She obeyed as I went to find her extra-strength pain relievers. When I returned to her side, I said, "I'm going to help you sit up so you can take your meds, okay?" She nodded. I supported her back with my hand while she meekly swallowed the tablets, washing them down with a few gulps of water from the glass I held to her lips. When she was done, I laid her down again.

"Thanks," she whispered.

"You're welcome," I whispered back, stroking her hair. "Want me to stay with you?"

She didn't reply. Upon further observation, she had either fallen asleep or passed out from the pain. Either one was better than the alternative, so I made room for myself on her cot and leaned against the wall, closing my eyes. The Library would keep us safe here until the morning.


	2. Ezekiel

Ezekiel and Jake helped me hobble into my room. The Library had kindly moved it to the first floor to accommodate my injury. Once I was seated on my bed, I banished the two of them, saying that what I needed most was a good night's sleep. Ezekiel, already yawning, went to his room without further protest. Jake insisted on getting an ice pack for my sprained ankle before he left me alone.

I propped my ankle on a couple of pillows, placed the ice pack on it, and leaned back. The Library had put a book of magical defense systems on my nightstand. That would be just the thing to distract me until the swelling in my ankle went down.

I wasn't sure how long I had been reading – half an hour at least – before I heard a cry of pain coming from the next room. I was on my feet and halfway out the door before my ankle reminded me that it was sprained. At least I managed to grab onto the door frame before I fell.

What was that by the door? A crutch? And just right for my height, too. I silently thanked the Library and used the crutch to stagger to Ezekiel's room. I knocked on his door. "Jones! Jones, are you okay?" I called quietly, trying not to wake the others. When I didn't hear an answer, I tried the door. It was unlocked. I pushed it open and peered in.

Ezekiel was thrashing about in bed and whimpering, clearly having a nightmare. I hobbled over to his side and, with difficulty, knelt down next to his bed. "Ezekiel," I whispered, shaking his shoulder gently. "Ezekiel. It's all right, Jones. Wake up."

His eyes flew open. He grabbed my hand on his shoulder, digging his nails into my palm. I winced but didn't pull away. "It's Eve," I told him softly. "You're in the Library, Ezekiel. You're all right."

"Eve?" he asked. "Oh. Eve." He relaxed, letting go of my hand.

"Were you having a nightmare?"

"Yeah." He shook his head. "Don't worry about it. I'm fine."

"You are not fine," I scolded him gently. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not particularly." He sat up and looked down at me. "You shouldn't be out of bed, Colonel Baird. Did you walk over here on that ankle?"

I held up the crutch. "The Library's got me covered. Ezekiel, it's not shameful to have nightmares. I have them all the time."

" _You_ have nightmares." His tone was clear: he didn't believe me.

I met his eyes. "With how many tours I went on, and how many times I've almost lost the four of you? Yes, I have nightmares. I would almost be worried if I didn't."

He laid on his side so he could look at me. "What do you dream about?"

I settled myself more comfortably next to his bed. "Oh, the usual. Weapons of mass destruction, Minotaurs, dragons, that kind of thing."

"No, I mean – we deal with those things every day. What do you dream _about_ them?"

The question was interesting, coming from Ezekiel. He didn't often want to go that deep. "In my nightmares, I'm the Guardian, but I fail. People die."

He reached out a hand. I took it. "You're my Guardian," he told me. "In my nightmares, I'm scared – until you show up to save me. Even in my dreams, Eve, you save me."

I squeezed his hand, touched and a bit awed by his faith in me. "I'm glad, Ezekiel."

"Me, too." He dropped my hand. "Now go get some rest, Guardian." I obeyed.


	3. Jacob

I entered my room and closed the door behind me. The exhaustion from the day's mission hadn't hit me yet – the adrenaline was still pumping from that final chase. Really, it was pure luck that we had gotten away at all. I picked up the latest book the Library had provided and sat on my bed. Hopefully, reading about fairies would help me calm down. (Really, Library? Fairies?)

I had been reading for about fifteen minutes when my door creaked open. I looked up and frowned. Hadn't I closed that securely? I got to my feet, groaning with the effort, and was just about to pull the door closed when I heard footsteps on the stairs.

Now it made sense. I followed the footsteps through the door to the main Library. It was an impossibly large room, but I knew just where to go. Jake always ended up in the art wing. Sure enough, I found him sitting on the floor, leaning against a bookshelf with a large tome in his lap. "Hi, Baird," he said without taking his eyes from the page.

"Hi, Stone," I replied, sitting next to him and looking over his shoulder. "What're you reading?"

He sighed and closed the book, tracing the worn title with his fingers. "I know you have no interest in Native American architecture," he told me. "Why don't you ask what you really want to know?"

I sighed. "How are you, Stone?"

"I'm fine." He opened the book again and flipped through the pages.

"You are not fine." I gently pried the book from his hands and set it on the floor. "It was a tough day, Jake. It's okay to be not fine."

He turned to face me, hugging his knees to his chest. It was a long moment before he spoke. "I speak nine languages," he said softly. "I can read a dozen more. But right now, nothing in any of those languages can describe how I feel."

My heart broke for the haunted look in his eyes. I was usually able to separate myself from the job. It came of seeing tragedies happen that I couldn't stop, no matter how hard I tried. I had learned to let go of the things I couldn't change. Jake, however, did not have that ability. He was right – there were no words for what he was feeling.

I picked up the book and opened to the first page. "You were wrong, you know."

Whatever he had expected me to say, that was not it. He raised his eyebrows at me. "What?"

"I _am_ interested in Native American architecture. I've just never had the chance to study it."

His eyes lit up. "Really?"

I grinned at him. "Really."

Jake resumed his former position. "Let's start from the top."

Three hours later, Jake finally fell asleep with his head on my shoulder. I placed the book on the floor next to us and noticed a blanket that had not been there before. Silently, I thanked the Library and settled it over us. I would be stiff in the morning, but Jake would have staved off the darkness for another night.


	4. Jenkins

A loud noise in the Annex brought me out of bed in an instant. I wasn't the only one; Jake stumbled out of his room to look over the railing, and I could hear Cassandra and Jones complaining on the floor below. When I peered down at the first floor, I saw Jenkins apologizing to the two youngest Librarians. I shooed Jake back into his room and trotted down the stairs.

"I do not need your assistance, Colonel Baird," Jenkins said quietly as Cassandra and Jones returned to their rooms. "I will clean up this mess myself."

I ignored him as I examined the Annex. Books that had been neatly stacked on the big table were scattered all over the floor. The "glowy globe," as Jenkins called it, had rolled under a desk. The clippings book was halfway across the room, fluttering in midair, obviously annoyed.

"Were you working on something?" I asked.

"You could say that," he muttered. He began to pick up the books. I went to calm the clippings book and replace it on its stand. After it was under control, I picked up the last couple of books and the globe.

"Thank you for your help, however unnecessary it might have been," he told me stiffly. "Now, if you don't mind–"

"Jenkins, are you okay?"

He flapped a hand at me. "Yes, I'm fine. I am not one of your L.I.T.s that you must look after, Colonel."

"I'm the Guardian," I reminded him, putting a hand on his arm. "And you are part of the Library, too."

Jenkins started to speak, then stopped. He stared up at the ceiling as though deciding what to say. When he finally spoke, it was in a bare whisper. "I have seen magic the likes of which you would not believe, Guardian. I have witnessed the banishment of illness, the healing of injury – even watched a person return from the dead. I myself cannot die."

He sat down heavily in a chair and put his head in his hands. I had to lean in to hear his next words: "Therefore it irks me – no, torments me – that I cannot save Miss Cillian."

I knelt down beside him and took his hands in mine. His face was streaked with tears. "Cassandra's tumor is not your fault, Jenkins."

"I know that, as I have logic just as much as you," he said. The open sadness on his face took away the harshness of his words. "But this Library – it holds the largest collection of magical items and knowledge in the universe. I am convinced that the answer must be here, if only I can find it."

I squeezed his hands. "You don't have to search alone, you know."

"I don't want to raise false hope, Colonel. And I know the facts. Librarians die. Miss Cillian may very well die of other means before the tumor becomes too much."

"Let me help you, then."

He raised his head to look at me. "You do so much, Guardian. I do not wish to place this burden on your shoulders when it fits mine so well."

"Cassandra is already on my shoulders," I informed him softly. "What were you working on tonight?"

He squared his shoulders and stood. I released his hands. "Let me show you."

The lights in the Annex grew dimmer and dimmer as the night wore on, though neither of us touched them. Eventually, Jenkins fell asleep at the table, his head propped up on one hand. I placed a blanket around his shoulders and returned to my room. The Library had dimmed the lights; it would surely watch over Jenkins as he slept. I could rest knowing that he was in good hands.


	5. Flynn

I was exhausted, but I was also covered in some kind of magical tree sap. Instead of collapsing on my bed, I dragged myself into the shower.

Freshly clean and clothed in my most comfortable pajamas, I returned to my room and flipped on the light. Suddenly, I saw movement out of the corner of my eye. I was scrambling for my gun among the clothes in my arms when I heard a familiar voice say, "Eve, it's me, it's me."

I looked and saw Flynn getting to his feet. He must have been sitting on the floor, waiting for me to get out of the shower. Now he came over to me and gently pushed my gun down so it pointed at the floor. "I'm sure you'd prefer to shoot me outside of your bedroom," he teased. "I'm sorry if I scared you."

"You could have turned the light on," I retorted, putting my gun on the dresser. "Did you just get in?"

"A few minutes ago. Brought back the staff of Moses."

I raised an eyebrow at him. "We didn't have that already?"

"Long story." He took the clothes from my arms and placed them in the closet. "The better story is that I'm here with you."

As he returned to my side, I finally got a good look at him. I took his hands and held him at arm's length. "Flynn, what happened to you?" I asked. He had scratches on his cheeks and burn marks on his arms.

"There were some mummies protecting the staff," he informed me, wincing as I examined his wounds. "They weren't too keen on me taking it away. But I'm fine, really."

I released his hands. "I'll go get the kit–" I began to say, only to notice a first-aid kit sitting next to my gun. "Never mind." I silently thanked the Library and found some burn ointment. "Sit, Flynn," I ordered, pointing to my bed. He obeyed.

I made much of my Librarian, tenderly smoothing on the ointment and applying antibiotic cream to his scratches. After I was done, he made much of me, kissing my bruises and brushing my hair to get out the last of the sap. It had been years since someone else brushed my hair. It was relaxing. I closed my eyes.

When I opened them again, I was resting my head on Flynn's chest. He was fast asleep, one arm draped over my waist. I smiled and closed my eyes again. Only two things in this world made me feel safe: my Librarian and the Library. With both watching over me, I had never felt safer.


End file.
